


backstage

by keith-in-shibari (diet_affection)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Adorable Keith, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Butt Plugs, Collars, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Finger Sucking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Fuckbuddies, Getting Together, Groupie Keith (Voltron), Guitarist Lance (Voltron), Hand & Finger Kink, Injury, Keith's ass, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mirror Sex, Musician Lance (Voltron), Oral Sex, Overuse of "kitten", Pet Names, Punk Keith (Voltron), Sloppy, Smut, Spanking, Tattoos, Top Lance (Voltron), Very minor!! Just scratches and bruises really, Vocal Keith, Whatever you call the kink for plugging up cum, cum kink, fwb to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-09-12 13:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16874100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diet_affection/pseuds/keith-in-shibari
Summary: “Hey… Kitten, love, look at me,” Lance said softly, cupping his cheeks and wiping away the mess of eyeliner, drool and precum. “I’m gonna go out there and deliver the best show ever, just for you, alright?”Keith looked down into the floor, lashes heavy with tears.“And then I’m gonna come back here, wait for you to make your way through the crowd, kiss you hard against the wall and then fuck you over and over until you’ll need a seated ticket for my next show. That sound good?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this started out as a smutty one-shot, which got a 3k word smutty/fluffy add-on because I liked the setting - and then the third chapter came in, held me at gunpoint, and had me write 8k words more of domestic fluff, backstory and a little angst to top it off. I hope it all flows okay despite being written a little backwards (if I knew it was gonna be this long I woulda definitely paced things differently!) - I really do love the setting and the way Keith and Lance interact with it. This might be one of my favorite AU's I've written, though not my favorite fic bc of the structure lmao. But I hope you enjoy nonetheless. 
> 
> Also, I wanna mention that Keith is 23 here - he's referred to as "boy" and often called cute, but he's not younger than Lance (who is 22), and he's not at all meant to be read that way.

His kitten was a mess – hair dyed dead black sticking to his forehead no matter how many times Lance wiped the locks back; his nose, cheeks, neck, even  _ears_  flushed red; spit running down his chin as he eagerly bobbed his head on Lance’s cock. His eyeliner had started to run, creating dark smudges beneath his long lashes. Lance grinned at the memory of the boy applying his makeup with a focused wrinkle between his eyebrows, legs crossed on the floor with a tiny handheld mirror, the eyeliner cap dancing up and down where it was held between his teeth. Now that pretty mouth was stretched around his thickness, lips red and pouty and his makeup ruined.

Such a good kitten too – taking him to the root with every sloppy suck, his enthusiasm never curbed even when he tried to swallow him too deep and ended up gagging and coughing. Keith was his name, and he had grown to be Lance’s favorite thing about these shows. He’d shown up at a meet and greet a couple months ago, eager and shy, making Lance break his usual rule of not messing around with fans. He’d shrugged it off until he felt that mouth on him, and quickly grew attached – in more ways than one.

And oh – if the heat of his mouth was heaven, the slick tightness of his ass was holiness itself. Lance had found himself falling hard for the boy; all adorable edginess, piercings and doe-eyes, the type to play tough, but sweet and loyal once you saw past his exterior. God, he wanted to put a cute little collar on him, bring him home and make sure his heart never got broken.

“Good, that’s good,” Lance murmured, patting the dark mess of a mullet and scratching a little behind his ear. He always responded well to praise, humming a pleased little tune and blushing a little harder at his words. Lance relaxed back into his seat, hands falling to rest in their natural position; the grips of the electric guitar slung across his lap. Groaning low in his throat as his kitten took him extra deep, he let his fingers play a little over the strings. The guitar was unplugged, but he still coaxed a sweet little tune out of it, a shadow of what was to come once he got onstage. He loved blowing Keith’s mind with his solos; his wide round eyes, choker and shy grin always visible in the front row of the crowd. A fair trade really, considering he was currently blowing Lance’s – well.

Speaking of shows, though, time was moving faster than he’d liked. He glanced at his wrist watch, clicking his tongue when he saw the time.

“Fuck. Kitten, off.”

Keith ignored him, only to suck harshly at his dick, eyes scrunched shut as if in a last effort to suck the cum out of him. Lance bit his lip to hide a laugh and yanked him off by a handful of that pretty hair, making him gasp for breath.  _Shit_ , he looked wrecked, mouth hanging open and drool running down his pink tongue, eyes shiny and heartbroken. Shit, shit, too cute.

“I gotta get going, sweetie,” he said as gently as he could. “But thank you for the blowjob.”

Keith finally closed his mouth to swallow some spit, only to part his lips again immediately in a small pout.

“But I want your cum,” he mumbled, voice beautifully fucked-out. “Been wanting it all day.”

He looked kinda on the verge of tears and Lance almost considered quitting his music career right then and there.

“Hey… Keith, love, look at me,” he said softly, cupping his cheeks and wiping away the mess of eyeliner, drool and precum. “I’m gonna go out there and deliver the best show ever, just for you, alright?”

Keith looked down into the floor, lashes heavy with tears.

“And then I’m gonna come back here, wait for you to make your way through the crowd, kiss you hard against the wall and then fuck you over and over until you’ll need a seated ticket for my next show. That sound good?”

Keith’s eyes lifted, shiny with hope.

“Can you–”

He cleared his throat, voice ragged. Lance nodded encouragingly.

“What, kitten?”

“Can you come in me?”

And…shit.

Was this guy temptation incarnate, come to ruin him? Lance couldn’t find it in himself to mind. Not when a boy with  _that_  face asked him  _those_  words; on his knees in front of him while tugging demandingly on the fabric of Lance’s ripped jeans.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, love,” he swore and swooped down to kiss his forehead.

“Now run, it’s about to begin.”

As he shrugged on his leather jacket and threw a quick glance in the mirror, he already felt a faint tightness in his pants; a heat low enough to control but still deliciously searing. He flashed a grin at his reflection, looking forward to pounding his kitten into a mewling mess. The pale roundness of his ass always looked so good with his red handprints on it. He could barely wait.

Lance stepped out into the blinding light and the roar of the audience, a dangerous mixture of sex and adrenaline rushing through his veins.


	2. Chapter 2

Lance’s breath was heaving, a drop of sweat trickling down his neck. He impatiently yanked his shirt over his head and threw it to the side. The crowd roared. The response made Lance’s eyes sparkle, though there was one thing that dampened the glow.

His kitten was nowhere to be seen.

He was always _there_ , a constant presence in the front row during the last few months. Starting off shy, just slightly nodding along to the music. Getting braver as the songs kept coming, eyes slipping closed as he loosened up and started swaying along with the dancing crowd. Lance loved watching him move. His lips mouthing the lyrics of the song, his eyes large and round and seemingly _entranced_ with how Lance’s fingers moved over the strings on his guitar.

It was pure luck that made the stage lights shine outward in a long movement, throwing light over the crowd just as Lance looked up. And there; a dark silhouette in the very back, hidden in between equipment and dark curtains. Bright white light flashed across his kitten’s face, showing a pale, awed face, lips slightly parted, something almost pained in his expression. He recognized that look; it was the one he had when he was sitting in between Lance’s knees, whining over being denied his cock until he was practically tearing up.

_Oh._

His kitten was needy today, huh?

Lance’s gaze fell, trailing down that black-clad body; or what he could see of it in between dancing bodies and flashing lights. A slow, gleeful grin split his face when he saw that Keith was palming himself, posture shy but the clench of his hand edging on desperate.

Locking eyes with Keith, he stepped out into the middle of the stage, the lights burning into him. His song was coming up and he was fucking feeling it. The bass thrumming in his veins, the electric guitar singing in his eardrums, the heat of the lights and the eyes on him – it was devouring him, pulling him into a roar of thrilling emotion.

He was gonna give this boy a damn _show._

This song was one of his favorites – he wasn’t the band’s main vocalist but he had a few songs of his own. His voice almost betrayed his lust; it felt thick and rough on his tongue, running off it like honey. The lines went by smoothly, lips moving with practice. He let the music move his body.

_Baby, the blood, sweat and tears / aren’t gonna make me relent / We’re too far gone to give up / Oh, we’ve got sins to repent_

The crowd was going wild, but Lance’s focus never left that lonesome figure in the back. His mouth was hanging open now, hand starting to move–

_We’re gonna fall to our knees / Two dirty souls to atone / I’m gonna fuck myself up /Don’t make me go there alone._

He locked eyes with his flushed, panting kitten in the back of the crowd and flashed him a dirty grin before launching into the hook.

***

He was almost dizzy with want as he made his way backstage, his head spinning from the craze of the show. He was definitely hard, and it definitely showed in his tight-fitting pants. Oh well, it’d give the crowd something to talk about. As long as they hadn’t spotted the figure touching himself in the back, he didn’t mind – no one else was allowed to see Keith like that.

He half expected to be met with an armful of naked boy when he yanked the door open, but the lounge room was empty. Worry panged through him immediately – their crowds could be rough – but he spotted Keith as soon as he started to jog down the hallway, arguing with the new security guard by the entrance.

“He’s with me,” Lance said firmly. The way Keith’s eyes lit up when he noticed him was hopelessly endearing. “Come on, love,” he smiled and reached out a hand. Keith grabbed it eagerly, and then they were running, Lance pulling him down the corridors at a pace that had them bumping into walls and giggling like idiots.

As soon as the door to Lance’s changing room slammed shut, he had Keith pressed up against it, mouth hungrily moving against his. They were both sweaty and clumsy and Keith’s breath smelled of beer, but he was soft and pliant beneath his hands, feverishly warm where they pressed together. Lance needed to feel that skin against his, but he couldn’t tear his mouth away. Instead he kissed him hard, again and again, sucking down his tongue with filthy, wet sounds as his hands massaged down his hips to grab at his ass. Keith moaned into his mouth and he growled, lifting his ass until his feet left the ground and he had him pinned against the door.

“So hot,” Keith gasped in between Lance’s deep kisses, his voice almost breaking, “You were _so fucking hot_ up there today and I can’t–”

“Yeah… I saw you. A desperate thing, aren’t you? Couldn’t wait until after the show?”

The bright blush rising up Keith’s face made him chuckle.

“You didn’t think I saw.”

“I wasn’t–”

Keith pouted, eyebrows pulling angrily together and his lower lip so red and puffy Lance has to stop himself from leaning in to bite at it.

“Ugh, _fine_ , whatever, you said you’d fuck me! So why aren’t you!”

He tugged at Lance’s leather jacket, impatiently. _Cute, cute, cute_ – And he was right; he _had_ promised, hadn’t he?

“I’m about to, love.”

Keith’s legs wrapped around his waist as he was carried over to the dressing mirror, starting to eagerly suck on his neck and yelping when Lance pulled away only to flip him around and bend him over the dressing table.

“I was marking you up!” he protested sullenly, but gasped when a hand on his neck pressed him down, the other busy with pulling down his leather pants. As soon as he got the tight, black material down past that soft ass, he stilled. Keith squirmed under his hold, wriggling his butt a little and throwing a coy look over his shoulder.

“…You like it?”

Lance licked his lips, still not moving. There was a small pattern of ink at the top of one of Keith’s pale ass cheeks, spelling out _97k_ with decorative letters. Their band name.

_Ninety Seven Kisses and You’re Mine._

That… hadn’t been there last time. It still seemed fresh, faintly red around the edges. Mesmerized, he thumbed the ink carefully, tracing the swirls.

“I got it yesterday,” Keith mumbled, shivering a little under his touches, “Was thinking of you…”

Lance’s eyes caught a glimpse of plastic, and his fingers trailed lower, parting his ass. A pink plug. He’d been wearing a plug all night, right next to a tattoo of his band name.

“You’re _so fucking perfect_ ,” he practically snarled, voice torn with lust and something goddamn close to adoration. “ _Fuck_ , Keith– What am I gonna _do_ with you–”

“Oh, you know that, don’t you?”

He was smiling now, smug at Lance’s reaction. He rocked his ass back and forth a little again, and that was _it,_ this was all he could take. The need to fuck this beautiful creature into oblivion and make him cry and scream and sob with pleasure underneath him – it was white-hot and searing in his blood, making his hands shake while he scrambled through his drawers for lube and condoms.

“You don’t need that,” Keith complained behind him. “Come ooon, Lance, I’m _ready_. And you said you’d cum in me this time, you _promised_!”

Lance cursed, slamming the drawer shut and turning back to his dangerous, dangerous kitten. He’d kicked off the leather pants and boots while he was busy finding supplies, and was now bare-legged and naked except for his band t-shirt and black socks. A slim choker wrapped around his pale neck. The pink butt plug was discarded on the table, the bend of Keith’s body showing off his already gaping, slick hole. Drops of lube were running down his thighs slowly.

“Fine,” Lance said hoarsely, voice strangely garbled. He cleared his voice and tried again. “Fine, okay, _shit_ , I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Then get over here.”

He was quick to oblige, shrugging off his jacket and unzipping his pants in a flash. He groaned at the relief of pulling his cock free, _god,_ he had never been this pent-up before; he was dripping precum and pulsing in his hold. Keith keened when he put his hands on him, stilling his hips before rubbing himself against him. He was right; there wasn’t any need for more lube, he was slick and dripping where Lance’s cock slid against his skin.

There were lights around the dressing mirror, giving him a perfect view of his kitten’s face as he pushed into him. The pure satisfaction he saw there almost matched the one he was feeling himself, from the tight hotness around his cock, twitching and sucking him further in. They both moaned at the feeling; Lance low in his throat and Keith high-pitched and broken.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he mumbled like a mantra, face falling to rest against the table. “Yes, _yes_ , come on, come on…”

Lance begun rolling his hips, interrupting his rambles and making him gasp. The sight of that lovely ass being split open was entrancing, keeping his pace slow at first as he paid close attention to the way it was squished around by his grip and how the rim stretched around his cock. When he glanced up into the mirror, Keith was resting his head on his arms, glaring at him.

_Uh-oh._

Before he had time to spew more adorably angry demands, Lance pulled back again and then thrust in properly, smacking into him hard enough to rattle the dresser and knock over a few bottles. It had his kitten _mewling_ , small yells torn from his mouth when he kept them coming. Lance grinned, leaning forward to increase the pace. There was no point in stretching this out, they’d both been on edge for so long now.

“Wanna see you,” he panted, grabbing a fistful of that messy black hair and pulling until his back arched, and his reflection was well-lit and clear in the mirror. Keith looked fucked-out already, drooling a little and flushed down to his studded ears. He seems almost embarrassed by his own face, but he was kept from ducking his head by Lance’s hold. In the end he dug his teeth into his lower lip and relented. That had Lance clicking his tongue.

“Wanna hear you, too, love.”

He released his ass, already missing its fullness in his palm, and instead shoved his fingers into his mouth – not to muffle, but to force it open so he could hear the lovely sounds spilling freely out. Keith was always so _loud_ at this stage, his moans unrestrained and surely audible down the hall. Combined with the rhythmic rattle of his dresser, there wasn’t much doubt what they were doing. It appealed to him, somehow; letting them hear but never see, giving a taste of what the two of them had but never sharing it. This was _theirs_ , Keith was his, and he was Keith’s.

And he fucking loved it.

He loved seeing him worked up like this. Not that it took much; all Lance had to do was grin at him and he would get that _look_ in his eyes, like his whole world was right there by Lance’s feet.

He loved his tough, punky little look, and the thought of seeing him stripped down and soft in one of Lance’s hoodies made his heart clench weirdly.

He loved the sound of his voice, melodic with just the right edge of hoarseness, that would crack when he was telling a joke that was too funny to finish properly.

Lance swallowed. _Shit_. He was pretty much in love, wasn’t he?

He might’ve already admitted that to their vocalist once, while drunk – but it was a different feeling realizing it all over while sober and with the boy in question _right there._

Keith was getting close; he could feel it in the clench around his cock, the way it was harder to pull back every time, and in the heightening pitch in his garbled moans. Lance yanked his fingers out of his mouth, making spit follow in long strings. Just like he thought, Keith was too far gone to care about his sounds now, his mouth stayed wide open as he sobbed out choked, desperate moans. Lance tugged on his hair, making him stick out that perfect round ass even more. The flush on his butt almost matched that of his neck and face – though suddenly he felt like making it even _redder_.

Oh yeah, he remembered that time he’d had his pet bent over his lap, making him cum just from filthy words and a series of sharp slaps across his ass.

Grinning, he lifted his hand and gave a sudden, harsh spank onto one of his ass cheeks. Keith sucked in a huge mouthful of air, almost choking on it, before _screaming._

“You like that, kitten?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course, with the way Keith was crying with pleasure beneath him, breaking apart beautifully. Lance let the sight of the two of them in the mirror burn itself into his retinas.

“You wanna cum now?”

Keith opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off when Lance spanked him again, even harder. All that escaped him were gasps, but he nodded eagerly. Lance cursed, feeling heat tighten in his abdomen. He gave a few last slaps, rippling that ass prettily, before his eyes fell closed and he felt orgasm hit him like a brick wall. His blood was roaring in his ears, and he vaguely heard himself groan a name as his fingers tightened around the flesh in his hand.

When the spots cleared from his vision he found himself pressing slow kisses into a neck that was burning with heat, hair sticking to it in messy patterns. God, he smelled so _good._ Sighing deeply, he pulled gently out of Keith but stayed bent over him.

“You good, love?” he murmured, pulling some of the strands out of his eyes. He still hadn’t opened his eyes or lifted his head, too tired to do anything but pant softly. The whisper he got in response was too low to catch the first time. Only when one dazed eye slit open and he repeated himself, did he hear.

“Plug me up again…? Please… pretty please…”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Lance shook his head, but his tone was soft. The pink plug had rolled onto the floor during their ministrations, and he headed to his bathroom to wash it off with hot water. Dragged-out whines from the dresser had him hurrying back.

“You gotta _hurry_ … It’s dripping…” Keith said, ass still in the air, rim clenching around some runaway drops of cum.

“I– yeah. Shit, Keith, don’t worry me like that.”

“But it’s _important_ ,” he pouted, gasping as Lance pushed in the plug. He gave it a few twists, making small, cute sounds spill from his lips.

“There we go. All plugged up.”

He patted Keith’s butt, which made him wince. Oh shit, that was right – he needed to find something for that. Impulsively, he bent down to press his lips lightly onto the sore skin, right over the fresh tattoo.

“Stay here a moment, would you?”

There were some bottles of moisturizer in the makeup drawer, and he sorted through them for the mildest. Only non-toxic products for this ass. He quickly spread a light layer of the cream over the two sore globes, before helping him back up.

“Stiff back,” he grumbled, taking a few steps that were adorably stiff-legged. “And sore.”

“Sure you need that plug, babe?”

Keith fiddled with the edge of his shirt, wiping not-so mysterious white stains away.

“Wanna bring a piece of you back home,” he whispered.

Oh.

Lance’s heart melted a bit. He suddenly felt bad for not involving himself more in his lover’s life. He was just… unsure. Most groupies – back when he’d still tried to date them – typically lost interest whenever he showed up to a date or hookup in a bland hoodie, without his guitar, without his stage and crowd and glory. He was scared, maybe. That even Keith would find him boring when he was just him.

He knew, somehow, that he wouldn’t – it was in the glow in his eyes and curl of his lip, the blush and nervous tapping of spiked boots. Still, he wasn’t sure how to… invite himself into his home, into his _life._ They’d hung out together plenty of times, but always backstage, or in a car, or somewhere that wasn’t… personal. Somehow, that felt like an important distinction.

Hesitantly, he reached out his arms, holding them up for a hug and feeling incredibly awkward for some reason. Keith didn’t falter though, just staggered forward and bumped into his chest with a soft _oof._ Lance’s arms found their way around him, pulling him close. Slowly, he began pressing kisses onto his temples and hair, and oh… he melted into his chest, sagging as if his legs suddenly lost their strength.

“Come here,” he whispered, tugging him with him into the soft leather chair in the corner. After some rearranging, he had his kitten curling up into a ball in his lap, Lance’s jacket draped over his shoulders. For a while they stayed like this, Keith dozing, Lance petting his hair fondly. He looked down on that slack, peaceful face, all long lashes and plush lips. He wasn’t too good with words when things truly got emotional, but… he needed to say something. This wasn’t something he wanted to slip. Not some _one_ he wanted to lose.

When Keith blinked his eyes open and shifted in his lap, he tapped his cheek to get his attention.

“Hmm?”

Slipping a finger beneath his choker, Lance tugged lightly.

“Hey kitten...” he said softly, “If I promised to treat you right, would you let me collar you? Make you mine?”

He moved his fingers up, tracing his neck, his chin, his cheek.

“Uh-huh,” Keith hummed drowsily, leaning into his touch like a cat as he moved his hand. “Wanna be yours and only yours...”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“Cause I like you.” He sighed sleepily. “Like you a lot…”

Lance chuckled. He sounded like a fourth-grader, but somehow it still made his stomach flip.

“God bless, you’re adorable.”

Keith smiled, all slow and shy.

“I’m gonna write a song for you,” Lance swore and pressed a kiss to that pleased little mouth.

“And you’re gonna be the first one to hear it; while lying in my bed; nude and content and not fearing a thing in the world. What do you say to that, kitten? How’s that make you feel?”

“Happy,” whispered Keith, curling into his chest again, settling for sleep. “…Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to ropebunnykeith for brainstorming w me for this last chapter! A lot of the ideas for their backstory is thanks to her :)
> 
> Edit: aahh forgot to thank my beta my1aliasnsfw, thanks for the help!

Lance’s fingers tapped across the screen of his phone with an ease they hadn’t in a while. The words were piecing themselves together, the emotion flowing from line to line in his usual patchwork of moods. He was often told he tried to tell too much in his lyrics. That he was cramming too much of himself into stories that often intertwined themselves with other worlds. He wasn’t a writer, he knew that. But he could tell things through music that he couldn’t otherwise, no matter how cliché that sounded. Lately he’d been struggling. Sentences falling short, a bad taste of dishonesty in his mouth when he wrote. He’d often found himself staring out into blank space and lacking that next line, the one that would piece it all together.

Now, all he had to do was lower his eyes and glance down at the sleeping boy in his lap. Watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the way his fist was curled loosely around Lance’s arm – it made the words never stop flowing. It felt strangely timeless; sitting like this, like they could stay cuddled up in this dirty leather chair forever and nothing would change.

Looking down at the red handprints still branded across Keith’s ass was enough to know they were still in the same timeline. It had been hours at this point, but he couldn’t make himself move. He just couldn’t; not with his kitten so at peace in his lap. His legs were beginning to cramp up, though.

It only took a slight unintentional shift before Keith blinked his eyes lazily open and started stretching.

“Did I sleep too long?” he mumbled, “Sorry…”

“Nah. I like watching you sleep.”

Keith snorted.

“Creep.”

Lance only ruffled his bangs.

“Do you feel okay? Let’s go home, yeah?”

Keith’s eyes widened questioningly. A little hopeful.

“To my place,” he clarified.

“Don’t think my body’s up for anything more tonight,” Keith whispered, in a way that made something drop in Lance’s stomach.

“Keith.” He looked seriously at him. “I was gonna make you dinner and subject you to my awful taste in movies.”

“Oh…” And Keith grinned, eyes beaming. “Yay.”

Lance supported him as he stumbled to his feet, legs clearly still weak. Yawning, Keith clung to his neck while Lance helped him with his tight pants.

“Jump for me?” he said, and Keith obediently gave a little hop as he pulled the pants over his butt. “There we go, baby. Now let’s go find my car.”

The lounge room was dark when they passed through it, and the doorman still outside was glancing at his watch. He had earplugs stuffed in his ear. Lance flashed him a grin and patted his shoulder appreciatively as they left.

 

“Do I have to?”

Keith was pouting as Lance dragged him to the bathroom.

“Absolutely. You need to clean off.”

“But I don’t wanna,” he whined, “Wanna keep you in me.”

“Keith, _honey_. As hot as I find that, your health comes first. You’ve already been wearing that plug for – for how many hours?”

“Many… But then I won’t feel you anymore…”

He looked almost sad as he fingered the edge of his shirt. Lance pulled him against his chest, remembering the way Keith had talked about it earlier. Like washing away the traces of him would make him disappear.

“Hey, I’m right here,” he mumbled into messy black hair, “m’not going anywhere. And either way… you’re not getting rid of these anytime soon.”

He lightly traced the love marks covering Keith’s pale neck, making him shiver.

“Good,” Keith whispered, nodding a little to himself. “Okay, shower then.”

“Towels are in the top drawer. The hot water’s a little slow, and…”

He didn’t get any longer when Keith grabbed his shirt and dragged it over his head, muffling his words. He smiled.

“You’re gonna join me, right?”

 

It felt strangely intimate to stand beneath the water together, despite the things they’d done to each other. Keith looked so pretty when wet. Droplets were hanging off his thick lashes, water following the curve of his cupid’s bow and running down his bare neck. His body strong and beautiful, marred by bruises on his knees and with a lovely trail of dark hair beneath his navel. He looked shorter without his thick soled boots. Younger without his makeup. It took Lance’s breath away to have him so close.

“You look like a drowned cat,” he whispered, and Keith spat a mouthful of water at his face.

 

As they toweled off, he saw Keith glancing around his bathroom, taking in the single toothbrush, the abundance of skin care products, the little handwritten note by the mirror that read “ _you got this >:)_” and the fluffy lion slippers by the door. He didn’t comment, but Lance saw the way his lips curled up.

He threw him some leggings and one of his hoodies; too large and swallowing him in faded red, and he had to restrain himself from clutching a hand to his chest in adoration.

They collapsed into his sofa – that is, after he’d cleared away the takeaway boxes and the abundance of half-written notes and music sheets.

“Sorry for the mess, ah… There’s rarely anyone here, ‘cept the band.”

“You don’t bring people home often?”

Keith’s head landed in his lap with a _thump._ It was an innocent question, at least judging by the tone, but Lance knew the implications behind it.

“Nah… I never really do that.”

“Prolly safer to not let fans know your address,” Keith smiled wryly.

“Oh, I don’t sleep with fans. Not anymore.”

Keith raised his eyebrows and he rushed to explain, feeling a little flustered all of a sudden.

“I mean – I’m sure a lot of the people I hooked up with at parties and shit were only interested in me because of my band, but… I never ask. If they start gushing about my music, I usually politely drop them. Unless they actually wanna talk, of course. But so many are just using it as a gateway, you know, like they’re either complimenting me to get in my pants, or even worse, they see me as some kinda god.”

He ruffled through his hair, feeling Keith’s eyes on him. He hadn’t been prepared for this kind of talk. But then again, it was something that came naturally when he’d decided to take their relationship to this next step.

_Relationship.  
_

He’d been exclusive with Keith for months, did he know that?

Had Keith been?

His heart thumped weirdly in his chest.

“Why’d you say yes to me, then?” came a murmur from his lap. It sounded a little unsure. Lance licked his dry lips, struggling for a profound answer but ending up with blunt honesty.

“I thought you were cute.”

“That’s it?”

He shrugged.

“I just had a good feeling about you, I guess.”

There had been _something_. Some spark in those dark eyes, the submissive shyness in his pose mixed with the teasing cheekiness in his smile.

 

They’d met at a meet-and-greet. Lance had been cramping up in his hands after hours of signing posters, CD’s, and questionable body parts, and was _dying_ to get out. He’d been complaining loudly to their drummer, Matt, when this cute punk got to the front of the line. He was clearly excited, tapping his boot-clad feet and blowing hair out of his face. All the metal accessories on his outfit jingled when he made a little jump upon realizing it was his turn.

“Oh! Hi, uh. I just wanted to say your music’s so cool. I really like _ironclad /rusted_ , it’s such a beautiful metaphor!”

Lance grinned, pleased that this cutie chose to compliment one of _his_ songs, despite addressing them all.

“Oh yeah? Well, it’s not the only beautiful thing around here.”

He could literally _feel_ Allura’s eyeroll to his left. It didn’t deter him in the least – he needed a distraction from the routine of _thanks, man_ , signing shit, and smiling politely.

Though when he looked back at the punk, he was surprised to see a frown accompanying his faint blush.

“I, uh… okay. But I really think it’s cool. You’re all very talented and… yeah. Thanks.”

He made to leave, but Lance waved him back quickly. It was late, there was barely a line, and the next people up looked too drunk to have anything reasonable to say, anyway.

“Hey, no rush. You’ve waited for an hour, you can get an autograph, or shake a hand, if you like. Or shake something else.”

Lance winked, although unsure exactly how his euphemism made sense. He was _tired,_ okay?

“Um. I’m sorry, but. Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

The punk was definitely blushing now, but still with that angry and proud little wrinkle between his brows. Lance blinked slowly.

“What?”

“ _Her._ You’re dating, right?” the guy whispered, pointing not-so-subtly towards their vocalist. “You shouldn’t – I mean. You’re hot but please don’t, um. You know.”

There was utter silence for a few seconds. Then the silver-haired beauty beside Lance threw her head back, guffawing with laughter.

“Oh my _god_ , that’s right, people think we’re dating – I still can’t believe _how_ they’d get that idea! I wouldn’t be caught dead with this lovely guy, believe me. I love him, but – oh god _no._ You have nothing to worry about, sweetie.”

“Oh… _Oh._ You’re not – you’re not dating?”

Lance was pleased to see not only relief but also excitement in the dark beauty’s eyes. He leant over the table, going for his legendary smoothness when he murmured, “No, kitten, I’m single and looking for love.”

The guy seemed to genuinely consider his statement, before saying in a hushed voice, “Will a blowjob do?”

It took him by surprise hard enough to give him whiplash, make him blink like an idiot, and then fumble with his words when he rushed to answer.

“I– yeah. _Shit_. Um. Why–?”

He felt his cheeks heat up and knew he’d ruined his smooth charade completely. _Why?_ Had he seriously just asked him _why_ he wanted to suck his dick? He was losing his touch.

“You’re hot? And I wanna?”

The punk had this innocently teasing look in his pretty eyes, though there was something unsure in the way he fiddled with his choker. It affected him in some strange way, made him lower his shoulders, release a breath, and say, “Okay.”

It had the guy smiling, showing teeth.

“Yay…”

He could feel his bandmates’ surprise when he got up, a sort of curious excitement pumping through his veins as he jumped over the table. It was understandable – he was known to flirt with anyone attractive, this was nothing new. But he usually avoided groupies, not fond of the power imbalance or the risk of leaked sex tapes and whatnot.

But goddammit, he was so _cute,_ and they would probably never meet again.

The punk giggled as he was pulled into a supply closet, dropping to his knees eagerly and undoing his belt and fly with nimble hands; gloved and with nails painted black. Lance’s head leant against the wall behind him and he sighed as a warm mouth took him in, swallowing him down with both ease and enthusiasm. He threaded fingers through dark hair, keeping it out of that wet drag of flesh.

“You’re…hah… pretty good at this,” he breathed, feeling something low in his stomach start to tighten pleasantly. It had been a while since he had done this completely sober, he could feel every little brush against nerve endings stark and clear. “Yeah, _fuck_ , kitten… just like that.”

The guy pulled off to pant quietly beside his cock before flashing a coy look up at him.

“I like when you call me that.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, blush faint on his cheeks, before he went back to bobbing his head all prettily. And damn.

“You’re _so_ _cute_ , kitten,” Lance moaned faintly, pulling hair away from that lovely face.

Dark eyes glanced back up at that. Something sparked in their depths, and then he was dragging teeth a little along his sensitive skin, clearly a teasing warning. It had Lance’s hips bucking, his breath catching.

“Ohh... A _dangerous_ kitten, are we?”

He looked pleased at that; pink tongue flitting out to tease around the tip.

“Mhm…” he murmured against a vein. “M’scary….”

After he’d come down the kitten’s throat – which he’d swallowed not only with ease, but with a silent plea for more – he caught his breath slowly, helping the boy wipe his messy chin.

“What’s your name, cutie?” he panted.

“Keith…”

“Will I see you again, Keith?”

Stupid. They weren’t supposed to ever meet again. But Keith leant into his touch, a warm cheek against his palm, and he couldn’t take his words back.

“’Course. I came here for you.”

“Oh yeah? You sure you don’t want an autograph?”

He might’ve sounded a little smug, and it sent something wicked flashing in the punk’s eyes. Before Lance could react, he’d snatched the autograph pen from his back pocket and signed _keith kogane_ in swirly black letters, right over Lance’s soft dick.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled, before jumping up and running off with a giggle.

Lance looked after him and only remembered to pull up his pants when he heard footsteps outside, minutes later.

 

***

 

It was a week later that one of the security guys knocked on his wardrobe door to tell him that his cat was here. Puzzled, Lance has stared at him.

“My _cat_?”

The poor guy cringed.

“…Actually, he said ‘kitten’ _._ It was a, uhh. A _dude_.”

When Lance didn’t immediately answer, he bowed his head and made to leave, clearly embarrassed.

“Sorry, I’ll show him away – I thought – he _swore_ you had told him to come—“

“No, no. Send him in.”

He nodded after a moment of surprise, and left.

A minute later a head was peeking through his open door, all black lipstick, high ponytail and big, hesitant eyes.

“You came,” Lance said, amazed that he’d actually showed up.

“Yea… and _you’re_ gonna, too.”

It was delivered with a cheeky grin, though still hidden in the door frame.

Lance laughed, took him to the bar, bought them drinks, and later fucked his mouth in the bathroom.

 

***

 

The show had been crap, the crowd had been angry, Lance had a weird ache in his neck, and everything was mostly shit. He stomped around backstage, full of pent-up energy and frustration, his bandmates leaving him alone after several attempts at helping him out.

When Allura touched his shoulder and told him Keith was here, he almost turned him away. But on second thought – while an orgasm might not solve his problems, it usually made him feel a little better. He felt slightly bad for using Keith like that, but then again, wasn’t that what they were doing? Using each other. Nice and simple.

Keith took one look at him and kinda froze, and Lance didn’t have the nerve to speak. He stood there dumbly, foot tapping and fingers fumbling with a bracelet, feeling less like the cool rockstar and more like the nervous kid he really was.

“You okay with kissing?” Keith asked suddenly. It caught him by surprise, like most things about him, and he agreed mindlessly.

“’Kay,” said Keith, nodded to himself as if to gather courage, and stepped in to press their lips together. Lance sighed into it, relaxing a little. It was pleasant, Keith’s hand at his neck and the other tugging lightly at his shirt, his mouth moving softly against his in unhurried patterns. He let Lance set the pace, adapting to his increasing neediness as the frustration bubbling in his chest sunk lower, heating up his blood and making him _hungry._

Keith hummed against his lips in acknowledgement, before _biting_ them, and licking into the sudden gasp he earned. It had Lance groaning low, tugging him closer. Burying fingers in dark hair, leaning in to coax out sounds from his kitten. And if those plump lips were soft around his cock, they were even softer moving against his own, parting around a hot tongue and small, gasping breaths. And when Keith pulled back enough to whisper _fuck me, please Lance, won’t you please fuck me?_ into the wet space of their mouths, he was gone.

His frustrations were easily driven off by bending Keith over the leather sofa and pounding him hard, and his broken moans when he pulled his hair were the sweetest Lance had ever heard.

 

***

 

The next time, Lance took him out to his favorite nightclub and they spent the entire night yelling into each other’s ears about personal insecurities as neon lights and darkness took turns swallowing them.

They stumbled tipsily around on the dancefloor, their laughter inaudible in the roaring pulse of music, Keith mouthed something about the music being shit and Lance kissed him.

Eventually he shoved Keith up against the wall in a bathroom stall and stuck his hand down his pants, muffling his moans with kisses tasting of alcohol.

His new favorite thing was making his kitten come.

 

***

 

Keith started showing up unprompted, most of the security familiar with his shy grin and his _I’m here for Lance, if that’s okay!_

Lance would be coming out from his wardrobe after a show to find Keith already in the lounge room, Allura braiding his hair and telling him stories of Lance’s biggest embarrassments. Keith grinned when he spotted him, said “Hey, babe” and waved.

They ended up playing cards with the band, forgetting to hook up.

 

***

 

Keith jumped him when he opened the wardrobe door, clinging to him like a koala, sucking at his neck and biting his ear, “Want you, want you, _come on_ –“

Lance fingered him and fucked him and let him fall asleep in his lap afterward.

 

***

 

Keith wrote a paper on his laptop while Lance painted his nails with Keith’s polish, humming through their setlist. They barely talked, but somehow it still felt like a good time. His kitten left that night with nothing but a kiss on the cheek.

 

***

 

The headrush Lance got when he was shyly allowed to go down on him had his eyes sparking in excitement, while Keith flushed and mumbled that it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Lance soon had him gasping and kicking his back adorably; black nails scratching up Lance’s arms. His kitten seemed to appreciate the drag of his pierced tongue – he filed that information away for later, very pleased.

 

***

 

Keith showed up with a bloody lip and a bruise on his cheek and Lance was _pissed._ He crossed the room in two seconds, holding his face carefully.

“I _swear_ , this fucking crowd—I’ve _told_ them we’ll cancel if they keep getting rough. And what the _fuck_ is security doing? What the hell, I’m so sorry, this isn’t supposed to—“

“Lance.”

Keith wasn’t meeting his eyes and it hurt.

Someone had injured his kitten and it fucking _hurt._

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s _not_ fine—"

“It’s not from the concert. I just. Got into a fight, okay? But I wanted to come.”

Lance hesitated, had to struggle to calm down; to realize he didn’t want this to be a big deal. He wanted to forget. Lance kissed him gently, hating the blood he tasted, the wince in his expression.

“Did you get him back?”

Keith’s eyes hardened as he stared past him.

“I got them good.”

 

***

 

The moment Lance realized how much of Keith’s life he didn’t know, was the moment he realized how much he wanted to learn about him.

 

***

 

It was routine by then. Almost domestic in the way Lance would save funny stuff on his phone to show him, and how Keith would do his uni homework in his lap more often than not. How they’d hang out at Allura’s place or kiss each other’s faces off in Lance’s car.

How having Keith in his life could feel comforting and exhilarating simultaneously, he didn’t know.

But he was still scared of going the next step.

One sad drunken night he told Allura about his feelings and how he was terrified. How he’d gone and done the stupidest thing a celebrity can do; falling in love with a fan. How Keith was gonna grow tired once he’d seen it all, and decided the sleep-deprived, messy, over-energetic and anxious boy didn’t live up to the vision of sensual confidence on-stage.

Allura had tapped him a little too hard on the head with a bottle of rum and called him an oblivious idiot.

She told him tales of Keith checking his makeup and tapping his feet in excitement as he waited for the sound of the shower to stop running, of Keith’s face lighting up at the sight of him, and of Keith’s lovesick ramblings that night Lance had called in sick and Allura had kept him company over greenroom chips and champagne.

Lance worried a little more, ducked Allura’s next swing, and promised he’d invite him home one day soon. She had him swear to clean up the place first. He nodded.

 

_Present time_

 

Which, yeah, he hadn’t done. But to his defense, he’d been busy falling in love and generally just being a mess.

“Baby…?”

Keith was staring up at him, a little puzzled. Hair still damp where it spread across Lance’s thighs, eyes big and curious. He was in Lance’s lap, in his hoodie, in his sofa, in his home.

Calling him pet names.

“You okay?”

Lance stopped breathing for a second. Then forced himself to take a shaky breath. Then swallow through his dry throat. Then open his mouth.

“Hey Keith…” he said, “wanna be my boyfriend?”

The silence had him looking down – just in time to see Keith’s shocked expression slowly blossom into a smile; wide and close-lipped and making his dimples show.

“ _Yeah_ , Lance.”

The certainty with which he said it; the utter lack of any doubt or distrust – it made it easier to breathe. Air rushed freely into his lungs, sweet and intoxicating and making his blood bubble. He grinned like an idiot.

“Cool. So we’re – we’re boyfriends now. Wow.”

He laughed, a short burst of joy, then quieted. Whispered, in awe.

“ _Wow_.”

Unsure of what to do with himself, he put his hand on Keith’s face, cupping his cheek. Slowly thumbing across his skin, watching how Keith’s eyelashes moved as he followed the movement with his eyes. When he’d reached the top of his cheekbone their eyes met.

“I _gotta_ kiss you,” Lance breathed, and Keith scrambled up to meet him, struck with the same sudden desperation as him as he threaded fingers into his hair and pulled him down, crashing them together and having them steal gasps of surprise from one another. Lance sucked in Keith’s lower lip hard, needing to taste him, feel him, right now. Keith _purred_ into his mouth, a pleased little sound he swallowed right down with a sweep of his tongue. The kiss got broken as Lance smiled. Unable to stop, he laughed quietly, pressing a quick peck on those waiting lips before grinning again.

“I like you so damn much.”

He knew his eyes were shining and yeah, maybe he looked a little crazy, but he was so _happy._ And his kitten, his lover, his _boyfriend,_ only whispered a content little “ _Yay,_ ” beaming up at him.

Keith practically moved in after that. Not officially, he still had his own little student dorm; a cute and surprisingly well-organized room of nine square meters, complete with a series of potted plants in the windowsill, their well-being reflecting Keith’s mental state, he soon learned. They’d hang out there whenever Keith was too busy to take the trip over to Lance’s or whenever he deemed Lance’s apartment _too_ unclean to spend time in without a risk to their health. He loved stepping in there, seeing the flash of green and the low sunlight filtered through the blinds, spinning gold into dark hair as Keith turned to him with a grin, jumping up from his squeaky office chair to greet him with a hug. And then other days he’d show up to see the plants dry and halfway withered, drooping their sad leaves downward.

“Haven’t you watered them??” he’d said, and Keith shook his head where he laid on the bed. “Poor babies…” he murmured and rushed to the bathroom with an empty Pepsi bottle. He paused by the window after providing the plants with some much-needed liquid, looking back at where his boyfriend still hadn’t moved on the bed, asking a quiet, “Hey… You okay?” He got another slow shake in return.

And it was painful, again; seeing him hurt. It stuck in his chest, cold and heavy, sticky in his lungs.

He found his way onto the mattress beside him, winding their fingers together – wanting to be close, but not touch too much. Not intrude upon his thoughts and make them louder.

Sometimes they’d talk when these moods hit. Talk quietly, for hours at a time, spilling painful words and bittersweet memories into the stifled air of the little room until the atmosphere was thick with it, but the two of them were lighter – never empty, but in balance with the world around them. “Osmosis,” Keith had whispered once, after Lance had tried to explain the feeling with his broken poetry. “Sure,” he’d whispered back and kissed his cheek. “You’re the biologist, love.”

They’d go on long car rides after, streaking through the dark to loud music or loud nightly silence, buying cheap takeaway and eating it curled into each other’s laps. Other times they’d simply lay in silence, Lance rubbing light circles into his kitten’s hand until his breathing was steady. Or Keith would ask him to sing. And he would, for as long as he needed.

For their one-month anniversary, Keith bought him a potted sunflower. Lance treasured it like floral gold.

Whenever his apartment was somewhat in order they’d spend their evenings there – it cleaned up nice, he liked to say. And with its decent size and living room wall lined with guitars, its wide windows framing rooftops and sunsets, and the reddish fairy lights along the walls, it felt like a damn nice home – at least when Keith was sitting in his lap.

It was a process of learning, of being fully themselves with each other and finding out which parts fit together, and which didn’t.

He learned that Keith was clingy.

Lance would be sorting through e-mails about promotional events and he’d suddenly have a lap full of pouty boy; his head on the keyboard and his arms out wide.

“You busy?” he’d mutter, stretching and acting obnoxiously innocent as Lance crossed his arms, eyeing his e-mail on the screen which was currently going “adkjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjglllllllllllllllllllle—"

“Not busy at all,” he’d huff, finding it hard to keep a serious expression at Keith’s giddy joy and lack of acknowledgement at his obvious sarcasm.

“Yay, we can cuddle then!”

“Keith, it’s 11am on a Monday, we—”

“That’s cuddle time!”

And how could he deny that?

He was eventually allowed to go back to work with his laptop balanced vicariously on top of Keith’s butt as he laid on top of him, face burrowed into his neck. And he had to admit it felt nice.

Lance also learned that _he_ was clingy.

It was somewhat of a surprise to him – he usually appreciated his alone time, needed it to think and write and relax and just _be._ He’d be all over his partner when they were hanging out together, sure, but he’d have relationships end before when his partner wanted to tag along to band practice or meet his family or join his runs or watch him play at home, and it _bugged him_ so bad that he’d ended up feeling trapped and claustrophobic and broken it off before he could put too much thought into why.

But time alone with Keith _was_ like alone time – almost, anyway. Not in the sense that his presence was easy to ignore (more like the opposite), but meaning that being around him, no matter the activity, felt revitalizing. An entire day with him had his battery fully charged, his energy at its height. And so he loved to keep him close. Days working from home while Keith had classes or labs or student meetings felt bleak. Leaving the city for a week to play at some fancy venue was lonely, despite their frequent facetime calls. And sleeping without his warm, curled up body next to him felt very, very cold.

He learned that Keith was an early riser.

To begin with he would slip out of bed quietly, letting Lance sleep until his alarm went off between 8 and 11 depending on his schedule. Lance loved walking into his living room to see Keith already _there_ , settled in with something and absentmindedly greeting him with a wave. And as they got more comfortable with each other, Lance would more often than not be woken up by a weight on his chest and something poking his face. He soon learned to acknowledge his boyfriend with a sleepy grunt, lest he pulled out his other tricks – like nipping the skin of his shoulder a little too hard.

He learned that Keith loved going for morning runs and would make him join – but that was alright, for Lance would take him for long evening swims in return.

Sometimes they’d skinny dip and make out, and Keith would be beautiful, _beautiful_ as the dark water made moonlight dance over his face.

He learned that Keith was good at cooking.

He woke up early one morning, his kitten’s antics having reset his body clock, apparently – and shuffled into the kitchen to find Keith dancing around in a shirt and boxers, swinging his hips as he scuttled between pans and cutting boards. Upon seeing Lance, he gasped in a scandalized tone, and promptly shoved him back into the bedroom.

He showed up fifteen minutes later with plates in his hands, looking grumpy. Lance yawned loudly and pretended to wake up with dramatic stretches.

“Oh, my, what is this? Being woken up with breakfast in bed? How lovely! How surprising! How utterly unprepared I was for this joy!”

Keith sniffed.

“The _one day_ you don’t laze around till midday…”

It took an abundance of kisses and bribes of scalp massages to get him smiling again.

But oh, what a smile.

As Keith got busier with finals, he’d spend his days quietly stringing notes together on his keyboard while Keith poured over his books, muttering under his breath. Lance made him coffee and lunches, getting a hushed _thanks baby_ in response, eyes never leaving the books. Some days he’d get handed his cluttered notebooks and made to read out phrases like _intermediate filaments_ , _kinase_ , and _spectrophotometry_ , which Keith would explain in return, eyes far away and voice mechanic as he practiced.

And he loved it all. Seeing him in other colors than black, out of makeup more often than not, not just backstage but also anywhere else. He loved spending lazy Sunday mornings between his legs, loved being taught cooking fun facts at the grocery store, loved seeing how well Keith got along with his bandmates and the security team.

It all felt so _real_. And so of course – they had their first fight.

It was a concert night, they were sold out, the crowd was roaring, the air was fresh and the night sky clear above them, and Keith was in the front row, cheering him on. Everything was perfectly good.

Until he caught glimpses of angry faces in the flashes of light; of a woman facing the wrong way in the crowd. He stepped closer to the front of the stage, trying to catch sight of his boyfriend between the moving bodies. A red flash showed him Keith shouting at the woman, before his eyes widened, and his head disappeared; down, down among the bodies and the empty beer cups and the stomping feet.

Lance didn’t think when he ducked out of his guitar strap and let the instrument clatter to the ground. He didn’t think as he put a hand on the edge of the stage and swung himself down into the crowd, pushing screaming fans aside with his pulse loud in his ears. And he didn’t stop until he reached the dip in the crowd to lean down and find Keith on the ground, nose bleeding and fishnet-clad knees scraped all to hell. He was only faintly aware of the camera flashes going off in an obsessive ecstasy around him, of the hands grabbing at his shirt, his hair, the painted faces yelling in joy – and then the security guards had caught up with him, creating space enough for him to help Keith to his feet.

Keith was angry. That much was clear to see; his eyes flashing darkly over his shoulder at the woman and the others around him, his hand wiping roughly at his chin before clenching at the sight of his blood. He let himself be led back towards the stage, held close. When they reached the metal railing Lance swept him up into his arms, lifting him over as he stepped sideways between two sections that a guard was holding open for him. He made his way along the path between the stage and crowd, trying to keep Keith out of the reaching arms. The backing track of their music and the heartbeat in his ears, still thumping almost painfully in his head, was loud enough that he didn’t catch Keith’s words until they were yelled into his face.

“Put me down!”

They weren’t off-stage yet. Lance tightened his grip, ugly emotions roaring in his chest.

“You’re hurt,” he shouted back.

“I’m _fine_ —just—”

He was squirming in his grip.

“Keith—”

“ _Don’t treat me like a child_ ,” Keith screamed, pushing his chest hard. Feet hitting the ground, stumbling back, away from Lance’s outstretched arm. And then running off, limping slightly, into the dark of the backstage curtains.

He wanted nothing more than to run after him, but people had paid.

He hated people right then, but they had paid.

The rest of the concert felt utterly quiet, though the noise of it still pressed around him. They skipped Lance’s songs and kept him in the far back, Allura saving the concert with her charm.

And when they were done, he stumbled into the backstage area to find the sofas empty and his wardrobe dark, the guards by the door shaking their head at his frantic questioning.

He was yelling at the head of security when gentle hands found his shoulders, turning him away.

“Lance. _Lance._ Leave Axca alone, okay, she wasn’t the one responsible for this unfortunate turn of events.”

Allura kept a calm expression as he gripped the front of her shirt – in aggressiveness or to cling to her, he didn’t know.

“ _Unfortunate?_ Keith was _assaulted_! And now he’s—he’s…”

“He was recognized, yes. It’s something we’ll have to deal with – this is clearly not safe. But first I need you to breathe. Take a moment.”

“What?”, he shook his head.

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m not – I’m _not_.”

She kept holding him as he trembled, waiting until he had his breath under control again.

“Listen to me, Lance. We live a strange life. We might not be superstars, but we _are_ fairly famous, around here at least. It can be overwhelming, but we’re used to it – to the crowd and the attention, the obsessed fans and the risk of it all. Keith’s _not_.”

Her voice was gentle as she explained.

“He’s probably seeing how big this is for the first time – dating a celebrity. And in the moment, it got too much. He just needs a little breathing room, I think.”

“…What do I do?”

“Give him a day. Then go talk to him, if he hasn’t already contacted you. Yeah?”

“You’re so smart, ‘Lura,” he sighed, leaning into her touch as she patted his hair.

“Don’t we know it. Now go home, dear. Who knows, maybe he’s already there, waiting for you.”

He wasn’t. His apartment was dark and felt emptier than it ever had.

 _Don’t panic_ , he told himself. _He’s okay. You’re okay._

He went to bed and texted Keith.

_im sorry. talk t you tmrw. hope ur okay._

And then, a minute later, he added:

_< 3_

He fell asleep staring at a blank screen.

The next morning he brought a little potted apology aloe vera to Keith’s dorm (“good for healing,” he was gonna say), knocking hesitantly at the door and feeling nauseous with nervousness. Keith opened the door in a worn shirt – not Lance’s – and sweats, looking tired and disheveled. Like he hadn’t slept well, either.

Lance stumbled over his words as he apologized; for the crowd, for his reaction, for being overprotective and not listening, for anything he could think of. But Keith wasn’t saying anything. Wasn’t looking at him – he glanced at the potted plant at one point, before biting his lip, looking choked up. He lifted a hand to rub at his cheek, bringing his attention to the slight bruising at the bridge of his nose. Lance felt sick, unable to stop the apologies from spilling out, because _this hadn’t been supposed to happen._

“I’m sorry, I’m. I’m _so sorry_ … Keith. _Please_. I never thought you’d get hurt, I--”

“It’s not about that.”

Keith’s voice sounded rough as he lightly touched the bruise, before letting his hand fall.

“Or – well, it is, but not like that. I’m not mad at you,” he sighed, leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s just – am I gonna have to be escorted everywhere? Do we have to worry about being taken pictures of at dates? Could paparazzi show up at my home? At uni? My family’s home?”

He looked small, tired.

“It’s a lot, Lance.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say.

Keith had a little frustrated wrinkle between his brows as he stared down at the floor.

“I _know_. I’m not mad at you. I’m just—”

He kicked the floor a little.

“…I don’t know. I don’t know.”

When he closed the door, slowly, hand white-knuckled on the knob, it took everything in him to not stop it. Especially when he saw Keith’s face twist as he turned away, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

But he needed time.

It would be okay, with a little time.

Lance brought the aloe vera home, leaving it on the living room table, looking forlorn among Keith’s abandoned books on cell biology.

 

Three days.

He didn’t see Keith for three days, and it was hard to believe this used to be his normal life. His music sucked, he cancelled interviews, and could only barely push himself to play at concerts. He didn’t look down at the crowd.

 

And then on Thursday, after a mediocre performance at best, he almost walked right into a enthusiastic Matt as he shuffled off-stage.

“Umm,” he said, “Someone’s here for you!”

Lance ran, cause who else could it be?

He was in the greenroom, hair loose and messy, in leggings and a gray hoodie, eyes big and sad and widening as he spotted Lance.

“Lance!”

“ _Keith_ —”

They crashed together, Keith jumping up and wrapping his arms around his neck, burying his head in his neck and knocking Lance dizzy with the smell of him, the feel of him in his arms, warm and solid and _real._ He couldn’t breathe, could only hold him tight, tight, stumbling back with the weight and ending up against a wall, burrowing into Keith’s shoulder and trying to gasp through the pressure in his chest.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry, I’m _here_ ; I’m back,” he heard against his neck, and couldn’t hold back a bubbling laugh that came out as a sob. And then he was crying, sniffling and laughing and spilling three days’ worth of worried tears into the fabric of his hoodie. Keith made a broken little sound upon hearing him cry. His hand was ruffling through Lance’s hair, wiping at his cheeks, lifting his head up with gentle palms.

“You okay?” he whispered, eyes shiny. Lance nodded in his hands, more hot tears spilling but he was smiling now, leaning to the side to kiss Keith’s palm.

“Yeah.”

He put Keith down eventually, but didn’t let him go far, still held within the circle of his arms. He noticed the room was empty, the band having left them to their privacy. His lips curled gratefully as he wiped his cheeks dry.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Keith was saying. “I just. I got scared a little, too.”

He laughed a little, looking up at Lance.

“At first it was just fun, yaknow, you being a celebrity? And then – and then I didn’t care. Cause I _liked_ you. So I kinda… just forgot, right? It was so great, just being us. But it’s not gonna work like that. I can’t just ignore it. You _are_ famous, and—and I’m a _fan_ , and it’s gonna be a big deal, but _that’s okay._ I still like you, I’m. I really, really, _really_ like you and I wanna stay with you, dammit, no matter what. If that’s okay?”

“Of course, kitten,” Lance whispered, feeling high on love, “ _of course._ ”

They stayed like that for a long time, just standing; quiet and close, rocking slightly back and forth. At one point, Lance started humming in rhythm with their movements, and their hug evolved into a sort of confused slow-dance, complete with toe-stepping and stolen kisses.

When they eventually got home, Keith spotted the sad aloe vera and giggled a little into his neck from where he was being carried piggyback.

“Most people buy roses,” he said, but gently.

“Ah, dammit, I _knew_ I’d gotten something wrong,” Lance sighed, and Keith laughed.

“It’s cute though.”

There was an unspoken apology there, and Lance smiled to himself.

“You ready?”

“For what?” Keith asked.

“ _This_ ,” he said, spinning sudden and fast around in circles, making Keith screech and cling to him, before throwing himself back onto the sofa, squishing him beneath him.

They got take-away, made out, watched three chick flicks in a row and ended up passing out on the sofa in a tangle of limbs.

Things got back to normal after that – his new normal. The one that included Keith (which was the best one, in his opinion). Lance insisted on putting a band-aid on Keith’s nose, despite his valiant protests that it wouldn’t help heal a bruise. He developed a habit of kissing it lightly, even after the mark was gone. They talked of coming out with their relationship publicly but decided to wait. No need to rush the attention that would be sure to fall upon Keith when he was more than just a rumored figure in blurry pictures, spotted sneaking backstage after every show. From then on though, he was joined by a security guard whenever he went to concerts, a sweet girl with pigtails and a surprisingly good high kick, which she got to show off soon enough.

And things were okay. It was still a lot, but they talked about it, found out ways to make it work. Keith bought ridiculously large sunglasses to hide behind. They tightened security around their homes. Keith woke him up with kisses. The concerts went great. Lance spotted a picture of his own chest behind a dark-haired head on Keith’s lock screen and grinned like an idiot about it for days.

They were okay.

 

He was playing with Keith’s hair one day in the tiny dorm room when he remembered something. He’d gotten it a few days ago but been a bit unsure about it. But with his kitten so relaxed in between his legs, head rolling into his touches as he hummed contently, he felt at ease.

“Hold on. I got you something,” he murmured, leaning over to grab the plastic bag out of his backpack. Keith’s eyes widened at the sex shop logo but didn’t comment. Even as Lance’s hands began undoing his choker and pulling it away, he sat there silently, looking questioning but not moving away.

Lance felt slightly embarrassed as he replaced the choker with a soft leather collar, simple and black in design – barely distinguishable from what he usually wore. It had a round metal tag in the front, laid in with a simple black stone. He buckled it up in the back with gentle fingers, brushing a touch over the nape of his neck before finally pulling back.

“Is that okay,” he asked, mouth a little dry.

Had Keith thought he was joking?

He’d suggested this to a previous girlfriend and she’d called him a freak for wanting to “tame her like a pet”. Which was… _wrong._ But he didn’t know how to explain it.

There was something about claim and belonging there, sure, but not in a possessive way. He just loved seeing something of his on his lover, whether it be a shirt or a hoodie or a collar he’d bought – a reminder that they’re his; but also a reminder to _him,_ of responsibility. It was a visual reminder that _that’s_ the one you chose, and they’re letting you choose them. It tugged at his heart in the strangest way.

…And seeing his kitten collared was also very, _very_ hot.

“What do you think?” he whispered into the silence, lifting his hand to rub light circles into Keith’s neck, needing to do something with himself. Keith felt along the leather, fingering the metal tag and pausing as he touched the backside of it – where Lance’s name was engraved. Private, but still _there_.

“Baby…” he whispered. “I love it.” He stayed turned away, head lowered – but Lance could see his ears and neck flush bright red.

He couldn’t resist kissing that neck, over and over, until Keith was giggling and squirming in his lap, gasping out whenever he sucked hard on the skin. And in the end the sight of him half-dressed and tousled; neck adorned with love marks and collar, had him groaning and pushing him down into the cactus patterned sheets of Keith’s bed.

 

It was an early morning when he finally said it.

Keith was still asleep, by some miracle of heaven, curled sleepily up against Lance’s hip as he sat leaning against the headboard, quietly strumming notes on his guitar. He’d woken up at 5am with an idea and already had several pages scribbled full.

His hushed singing eventually had his boyfriend stirring, rolling over onto his back to stretch and squint up at him.

“What’s this?” he yawned, lazily sitting up.

“A new song I’ve been working on. It’s kind of a mess still – weeell, so am I,” he chuckled. Keith didn’t laugh.

“That’s okay.”

His voice has cleared slightly from its sleep-roughness, his eyes looking attentive as he settled on his stomach, looking up at him.

“I wanna hear.”

“Oh… Okay, I guess.”

He cleared his throat, wondering why he felt so at ease performing something so unfinished. It wasn’t often he sang acoustic – or well, he did it all the time around his apartment, but that was different. Still, the words flowed at that moment, with faint sunlight making a haze of dust in the room, a yawn still in his voice, and with Keith in his lap, looking at him.

 _“Through corridors of broken doors / through labyrinths of rust / I’ll walk on through the ruins for / your footprints in the dust,”_ he sang in a low voice, fingers playing absentmindedly across the guitar strings.

“ _The fading sun will warm me till / I catch your silhouette / I’ll put down all my weapons, you’re / a risk I won’t regret._

 _Though lonely is my trigger and / my panic is of lead / I pray we’ll both find safety in / the softness of my bed._ ”

He cleared his throat, taking a breath as he glanced at his scribbles. Wow, this was really not finished.

“ _You’ll quiet down my chaos and / I’ll lighten up your_ hmm“- that part had been difficult to fill in. Finding words, finding words… He was struggling here, softly humming, _“Da-da-ra-ra da-da-ra, you’re / a shelter in my storm...”_

There was more; scattered words and half-strung sentences he wanted to use; always more, more, more words to say, but there was nothing he could sing. They were still stuck in his mind, shy and frightened. In hiding. He played a few more notes until the melody fell apart, strings squeaking under his shaky fingers. Then silence.

“It’s not done,” he mumbled, a frustrated wrinkle between his brows. It _wasn’t_. It wasn’t proofed or polished or made pretty; just a mess of words wound together, the meter only barely clinging to the melody. For some reason he felt choked up – _stupid, stupid._

Keith sat up and took the guitar from him. He didn’t protest, though something in his chest squeezed together when his arms were empty and he was sitting there, stripped down and vulnerable, hands having nothing to do. He wanted to fiddle with his bracelets but he didn’t want to look nervous. Not when Keith was looking at him like that, quiet and considering.

“Lance…”

He was prepared for a lot of things, but the words that left Keith’s lips hit him like a shock, though they were spoken gently.

“I love you, too.”

He blinked, eyes wide.

Love?

He— he hadn’t— that wasn’t what he’d said.

He knew, though. Knew that he loved Keith – had for a while – and that somehow, he had been able to convey it through his half-assed, acoustic recital at 6am. Somehow, Keith had understood the importance of the song. How it was a confession.

How this boy had burrowed so deeply into the roots of his heart that he was a part of his shitty poetry now.

He really was into it deep, wasn’t he?

Keith climbed into his lap. He was in boxers and a shirt, Lance only in boxers, and their thighs and arms met in brushes of warm, soft skin as he leant in to kiss him. Slowly, repeatedly.

“Be mine forever,” Lance murmured against his mouth. Their noses bumped together. Keith’s voice turned teasing, that same old light in eyes.

“I’m your little _kitten_ , aren’t I?”

He smiled.

“Be mine, Keith.”

And he nodded, leaning into Lances hand where his fingers were brushing over his cheek, his nose, his lips.

“I am.”

He bit his finger lightly.

“And you’re _mine,_ Lance McClain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these boys sm

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: keith-in-shibari
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> Twitter: shibari_k_
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> Tysm for reading, hope you enjoyed the ride <3


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